


Sleep

by fictionalthoughts



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din Djarin Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Spooning, The Mandalorian(The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalthoughts/pseuds/fictionalthoughts
Summary: blurb prompt from tumblr: fluffy mando x fem!reader + little spoon*also found on my tumblr @fictional-thoughts
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 211





	1. Sleep Pt1

You had turned away from him in your sleep, facing the wall, the sheets cling to the slope of your shoulder and shadows fall into the pretty curve of your waist. Your hairs messed over the pillow and the shadows of your closed lashes kiss the soft hill of your cheek.

The Mandalorian felt your warm presence turn away from him at some point in the night, tangled in the thick comforter, he’s drowsy with sleep and barely registers he’s stolen all the blankets, leaving you with only the cream coloured sheet.

Through the daze of that early morning late night feeling, Mando mutters a soft apology, voice caught on a rigged edge, raspy with sleep. He draws the blankets back over you and sinks into the bed, sliding an arm back around your waist, delicately and soft, not wanting to wake you.

But you shift a bit and he thinks he’s awoken you but you’re just snuggling yourself deeper into his side.

Mando breathes slowly, caving into your warmth. He’s exhausted, long days go hand in hand with bounty hunting; dragging on, the hours seemingly melt into years and the only time the minutes slip past his recollection is under the cover of night within the _Crest_ and with you.

But things do calm down, and Mando is finally settled into something that could resemble relaxation, peace at mind and all things he doesn’t allow himself to focus on during those long days.

He’s got one arm curled under your pillow and the other slid up your shirt, his face is burried in your hair but he doesn’t really mind; nose tucked right beneath your ear, he couldnt be closer if he tried. Knees tucked right behind yours, you slowly stretch, wind your leg with his. You’re half awake but don’t speak, inching backwards pressed close enough so you can feel the Mandalorians soothing and steady heartbeat against your back.

You wanna say you’re awake, too, maybe tell him that you love him. But there’s not many times when the Mandalorian wakes in the middle of the night, unplagued by haunted dreams of the past, or worries of the future. So you let him hold you, the softness of his hand spread over your skin, under your silky shirt. You let him hold you a little tighter, feel him press a soft kiss to your neck before falling into another calming daze.

Always in the middle moments of night, the sleepless ones or times when he can catch a break from feeling like he exists, that yearning of closeness seeps in from all sides, drowning the Mandalorian. He finds he breathes properly, lying next to you. You break down each barrior, of metal and battles within, break it down into something kind and soft. He’s curled to your side, finally allowing his eyes to close, back in the safety of being with you.


	2. Sleep Pt2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> much requested pt2 with softy mando as the little spoon :’)

The golden early morning light pans through the bunk room, hazy and picking up the glints against the beskar, armour of the warrior that lies beside you, soft for a moment, curled deep in all the thick blankets he stole from you in the night.

You turn over, stretching and feeling your limbs slowly wake. Eyes fuzzy with sleep you’re blinking through the lights, the world slowly comes into focus and so does he. Mando’s back is to you, shirtless and muscled his skin matches the bronzed lighting, warm and sultry. The aesthetics and detail of an early morning alone with the Mandalorian bring a certain contented feeling, that maybe everything really is okay.

You slide yourself over to his side of the bed, feeling light as air you’re finally back in the warmth and coziness. You think to yourself that you desperately need to tell Mando he steals blankets in his sleep, tangles them up around himself until you are only left with sheets and feelings of betrayal. It’s adorable, in a way, until you wake up freezing.

Using him as a human heater wouldn’t be a terrible idea, either. He’s always warm, the first time you touched him under the beskar it surprised you just how warm and solid the Mandalorian was; you tentatively slide your hand over his back, skimming over the ridges of muscle and bone over his shoulders and slipping past his arm you’re hugging around his torso, cheek squished snugly to the top of his shoulder.

He sighs gently, shoulder rising and he tries to move but you curl your thigh around his waist, successfully trapping him close to your body. You smile when he tenses for a moment, then decides he doesn’t mind it, and relaxes back into your body.

“What’re you doing?” His voice deepened by sleep, sends a rather warm feeling right through your body. He’s used to being the one waking you, curling himself around your body, he’s had a habit of laying on your chest, a hand slid up your shirt or playing with your hair. This time you’re the one awake first, coaxing him awake with smooth touches and letting your nails drag up his arm, it’s really reminding him of other times when your nails trail over him but right now it’s soft.

“You’re warm,” you tell him simply and tuck yourself closer, deep between his solid warmth and the worn fabric, metal to silk, summer breezes to the cities wall. Your cheek is squished snugly to his shoulder, hair a tangled mess in your face but nothing really matters when it’s this early in the morning.

His hand finds yours in the mess of blankets, threads his fingers with your own, yours soft and small compared to his, worn with histories of battles and warlike missions. “I took all the covers, didn’t I.”

A smile forms and you squeeze yourself closer to him. “Maybe.”

The world around you and the Mandalorian is peaceful and quiet, his soft breathing fills your ears and all you want to do his kiss him.

And you do, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, you find a small scar, white and raised it’s a reminder of his past and what the present could be. You follow up with soft kisses, slow in the morning light, chasing the last feelings of laziness before the suns really up. He wants to hold you, feel you move under his hands and run his lips over every inch of you. But you’ve got your lips pressed to that spot on his neck and maybe it’s okay that you’re in control for a moment.

There’s another scar, and you pull your arm out from under the covers to trail your fingertip down the jagged line. It runs up from his shoulder to just behind his ear, thin and angry looking.

You couldn’t make it better before, when it was fresh and painful, but maybe you could replace the memory, smooth over it with softness and remind him that it’s okay to not be strong all the time. You press a kiss to his skin, he smells of lost metals and smokey winds and something you’re not sure of, maybe blaster fire or the metallic hints of beskar. Your teeth tug at his ear, teasingly playful and earn a soft sound from the Mandalorian.

You tell him that maybe today can be when time doesn’t exist anymore, that all you can have is each other, just for the day or maybe infinity. The Mandalorian agrees easily, and maybe you’re making him softer, or are slowly digging up a form of his past self, one he was sure he’d buried long ago — it was something he’d always feared, the presence of another that lives with knowledge of his humanity, his raw reality of pain and searching for purpose within an oath. But with you around him, sweet nothings whispered to his skin mixed with feather light touches, none of that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is always so appreciated <3

**Author's Note:**

> soft mando will be the death of me 🥺


End file.
